


agate, amber, amethyst

by rainny_days



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Mostly it's just, Nesting, Tenderness, bird-like tendencies, extensive descriptions of rocks, like one line, maybe a teeeeeeensy pinch of angst, pre-160
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-02-07 04:54:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21452335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainny_days/pseuds/rainny_days
Summary: Martin discovers that Jon has a magpie-ish tendency to give him bits of shiny rocks. He's confused, but charmed.Jon is just smitten.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 44
Kudos: 801





	agate, amber, amethyst

**Author's Note:**

> reposted from [tumblr](https://tmblr.co/Zz5ZAr2m6vqDu) for posterity

It starts with the small stone on Martin’s notebook.

It’s a pretty little thing, smooth and round and marbled through with coppery browns and golds over a dark grey. Martin lifts it between his fingers curiously, a little warily, tilting it one way and then another. It doesn’t change shape in his hand, doesn’t burst into flames or a thousand writhing worms, which is a comfort, but doesn’t really explain anything.

He turns to Jon, who’s making marks on a statement with slow, unhurried movements. ‘Jon,’ he says. ‘Do you know…what this is?’

Jon glances over at him. Frowns. 'That’s- a rock?’ There’s a tilt in his voice like he isn’t sure whether or not Martin is messing with him, and is perhaps a little annoyed at the possibility. Martin snorts.

‘Yes, Jon, I can see that,’ he replies patiently. ‘I was wondering if you knew how this rock could have possibly appeared here, because I don’t remember using it as a paperweight.’

The lines on Jon’s forehead smooth over slightly, even as his frown doesn’t disappear. ‘I picked it up when I was out today,’ he says, as if it were an obvious fact of life: Jonathan Sims, professional rock collector. ‘I thought you might like it. It’s- interesting.’

‘It’s…pretty?’ Martin tries, when Jon looks more frowny as the seconds pass in bewildered silence. He looks back at his rock, small and innocuous and something _Jon_ picked up, because he wanted to give it to Martin. He smiles, walks over to Jon, the stone growing warm in his palm as he leans down to kiss his forehead. The small, startled smile that darts over Jon’s face then is so sweet that Martin touches the edge of it with his knuckle, helplessly charmed. ‘I- it’s really nice, Jon. Thank you.’

He puts the rock at their bedside table, and smiles at it that night, Jon’s arm warm over his torso, when he catches the shape of it at the corner of his eye before he falls asleep.

* * *

It doesn’t stop.

The next day, it’s an agate, squarish and dark blue, on the counter of their kitchen. Two days after that is the sandstone, flecked with golds and greens, perched precariously at the edge of the sofa arm. After that it’s bits of sea glass, a smooth wedge of limestone, even a quartz, once. Every few days, if that, Martin finds another bit of stone somewhere in the house, hiding somewhere he would inevitably stumble across (literally, once, when it was at the foot of the bedroom door). Whenever he tried to ask Jon, he’d just smile a little and said it reminded him of Martin, taking advantage of Martin’s momentary confusion and flustered happiness to press a kiss to the corner of his lip and wander off. Martin didn’t have it in him to protest his boyfriend’s (_boyfriend? lover? _he’d never really tried to put what he and Jon were into words, it felt too fragile for that, sometimes. Too temporary. _Beloved_, maybe, was the right word) magpie-like tendencies too much, because it was-

Well, it was _nice_. Bizarre, but nice.

When he wakes up one morning to find a small seashell in his hand, fingers gently curled over it, he blinks blearily for a second, then two. He turns over in the bed and faces Jon, perched on the other side of the bed and looking at him fondly. Jon smiles when he sees that Martin’s awake, brushes his hair away from his face.

‘Hello, love,’ he says, voice soft in a way that Martin had never imagined hearing from him, the endearment rolling off his tongue so easily that Martin almost felt strange for feeling like he’d been hit by a truck. Martin takes a hold of his hand as it pulls away from his bangs, curls their fingers together.

‘Good morning,’ he says. ‘Did you wake up early?’

Jon nods. ‘I thought I’d take a walk.’

‘And you found this?’ Martin looks at the small shape in his hand. The shell isn’t anything particularly special, just a cluster of ridges that forms a small fan. He runs his fingers over the texture of the shell. ‘I didn’t know there was a beach around here.’

‘There isn’t, I’m not sure how I found it, honestly. Maybe someone dropped it.’

Martin looks at Jon, who’s eyes are affixed to the hand that Martin is holding the shell with. ‘And it reminded you of me?’ he says, half-teasing and half-fond. Jon runs a thumb over their joined fingers.

‘Yes,’ he says, and, uncharacteristically, continues. ‘I- it reminded me of- when we were leaving the Lonely-’ Martin stiffens, and Jon stops speaking, looking guilty. 

Martin immediately tries to relax. ‘…and?’ he prompts, and Jon looks at him incredulously. ‘Jon, it’s fine, I want to know.’

Jon still looks a little skeptical, and Martin loosens their fingers to swat his head gently in admonishment. Jon gives him an aggrieved frown at that, but continues.

‘Well- I was thinking,’ he says, frown sliding off his face as he speaks. ‘That it would be nice, if I could take you to a real beach, one day. Obviously, that can’t happen now, but- when I saw this-’ he shrugs. ‘I thought it was as good a start as any.’

Martin swallows around the lump in his throat. ‘Okay,’ he says, a little shakily. ‘And the other ones?’

Jon blinks at him. ‘The other ones?’

Martin wordlessly gestures to the small collection that he’s amassed over the past days over the bedside table, raising an eyebrow. Jon still looks slightly confused as he says ‘They reminded me of you,’ he says, a familiar mantra by now.

Martin snorts. ‘_How?’_

‘Well,’ Jon says, as if it were supposed to be obvious. ‘_Everything_ reminds me of you, really. These were just easiest to take home.’

Martin doesn’t really have any response for that- nothing that can be spoken aloud, anyways.


End file.
